I turned round, rushed over to the spot where the implement was lying, some half-a-dozen yards away, and picked it up.
By dint of great effort, we managed at last to thrust it between the arm and Stringer. Then we pulled, lever fashion, using the bottom of the cage as a fulcrum.
"Harder!" shouted Gran'pa.
As the three of us tugged and strained we heard the wood splinter and give a little, and with a moan of anguish the imprisoned man collapsed. But there was still no sign of capitulation on the part of the gorilla. It held on firmly and stoically and resolutely—the embodiment of inexorable revenge.
Above the fierce pounding of my heart, I heard the sound of running footsteps on the soft turf and, an eternity later, two men arrived.
"Grab it—and pull!" cried the Menagerie Man.
Even with the five of us straining our utmost at that crowbar the brute would not relax a muscle.
"Hold on . . . a minute . . ." gasped Gran'pa, suddenly letting go. "I've an idea!"
We hung on grimly and doggedly, and as we did so we saw the gorilla slowly wriggling its body upwards until its great jaws were opposite to Stringer's face, which was resting limply against the bars of the cage.
In a flash Gran'pa was to the rescue. He pulled the unconscious man's head away from the menace of those awful teeth, took out a penknife, and suddenly jabbed it into the fleshiest part of the brute's arm.